When Santa Isn't Real
by SailorSilvanesti
Summary: A sad little ficlet to make you cry. Nwville goes to see his parents at Christmas... "...hope, love, even anticipation were drained away as silvery tears of despair slid down his cheeks..." Cry, but please respond. A Review would be lovely.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but I hope this embodies the sadness of the situation.**

**A small ficlet to make you cry.**

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><p><strong>When Santa Isn't Real<strong>

**~)0(~**

Tentative steps echoed along the never-ending corridors of stark, surgical white… Inside his chest beat a sad, yet tremulous, tattoo of hope; maybe this time, maybe this year. Maybe. Or Maybe not. How long could this go on? Forever? Years upon years without end, without relief, without anything but his fragile need to believe everything would turn out all right, spurring him onwards.

Silly little clumps of Mistletoe decked out the halls in sparse, rather pathetic attempts at bringing a cheery Christmas air to the oppressing place; his hand came up instinctually to chest height and trailed the fingers across the engraved sign, as they always had when he came here. Only, this time, he needn't stand on tippy-toes to reach the letters… 'Janus Thickey Ward'

The name alternately welcomed and thwarted him; it beckoned with the hopeful promise of change and then…crushed it. He knew it was just a sign, but on occasion he would glare at it with such loathing in his eyes… sometimes he almost imagined a sadistic entity just perching out of sight in these corridors, like an invisible Dementor, sucking out all that was good inside.

Sweaty palms clenched, and he giggled nervously at the irony; in the past few months he'd organised and led a revolution against the Death Eaters in Hogwarts, stood up to Voldemort and killed Nagini…and this was the stumbling block. This here was what frightened him the most. He steeled himself with a deep, fortifying breath and let it out slowly, building up the walls about his heart but leaving the tiniest chink so his hope could shine through.

The door slid open without a sound and an elderly medi-wizard with greying hair toddled over to meet him, her outfit snug on an over-stuffed, though jovial, frame. "Oh, there you are dearie, good to see you at such a cheerful time… They're right over there and all fed up, dearie. My how you've grown!" She pinched his cheek to accentuate her point, and beamed sadly at the acknowledgement of how long it had been since-…well, it had happened and dwelling on the past only brought pain and suffering.

The woman left her death-grip on his cheek go, patted it kindly and waddled off, leaving him alone with…them. He sucked in a trembling breath, "Hey, it's…it's me mam, and dad." His voice was low, though enough to echo around the room like a gunshot in the ringing silence… Alice and Frank Longbottom simply stared into space, eyes vacant of all emotion or sentience, and he felt the final wall slam shut in his heart. The ray of hope, as always, extinguished…

The invisible presence he always felt here, the Dementor his childhood fears had conjured, stood beside him now in his mind's eye and placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly as it sucked out his emotions; hope, love, even anticipation were drained away as silvery tears of despair slid down his cheeks. The sparsely decorated shabby excuse for a Christmas tree mocked him with all of it's three-foot high self, from across the room; loose baubles had been fixed o with tape so no one could hurt themselves. Still, his parents did not look at him, did not acknowledge him…

Shaking hands wiped at the tears in his eyes.

A sniffle was the only remaining sign of his heartbreak as he turned away, one last regretful look over his shoulder at the people he loved most in the world and started to leave… By the time he got to the doorway, he found he could not look back without breaking; and so, kept walking with back straight and chin high to deny the pain inside. All he had ever wanted for Christmas was his parents back…

All that remained of his visit was an innocuous little box wrapped in navy blue paper and tied off with an ornate red ribbon; it sat silently on the table, a beacon of hope destroyed…and then… Alice reached for it with a gnarled hand, something close to recognition in her eyes and her son's name on her lips…

"_Neville…_"

Maybe Santa was real after all…

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><p><strong>The End...?<strong>

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><p><strong>Like it or Loathe it?<strong>

**I'd like to think it was the beginning of something wonderful...**

**It's up to you, please Review.**

**~SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire ~**


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